


nothing can repair what was lost

by trekmemes (ProblematicPitch)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dominion War (Star Trek), Genocidal Violence Mention, M/M, Post-Dominion War (Star Trek), warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblematicPitch/pseuds/trekmemes
Summary: Originally posted March 11th, 2019on my blog here,for the prompt "cuddling after a hard mission". I've added minor edits.Julian and Garak come to terms with the end of the Dominion War.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	nothing can repair what was lost

And then, without moving a muscle, his facade begins to crumble. In a moment he is stripped bare. Not a soldier, or villain, or spy, just—

“Garak,” Julian whispers. It is the only thing he knows how to say.

He pulls him close, holding up Garak’s body as it goes slack with grief. He offers touch as a salve. It is very little food, and he knows it, but Garak clings to him with a ferocious need.

He sobs silently, his hand shoved between his teeth to stifle the sound. Julian wants to tell him It’s all right, your pain is allowed here, but settles for pressing his face into Garak’s neck ridges and wrapping his arms around his waist.

They sway, less out of a need for motion and more as a way of absorbing the news.

“Elim,” Julian murmurs, and the eyes that meet his are the frightened eyes of a child.

He offers his hand. Garak carefully removes the offending article from his mouth and entwines his fingers with Julian’s. He tucks his chin, eyes darting side to side as he gasps.

“You did all you could,” Julian assures him. 

“Nine hundred million dead,” he repeats, broken. “Should have d-done something, should have stopped them…”

So this is war, Julian thinks. Behind the stories of brave heroes and bold maneuvers, this is what is left.

Now is not the time to remind him that without their work, the losses would have been much greater. Now is the time to feel the pain of victory.

“You need to rest,” he says after a soft beat.

“No, no, I need to—"

“As your doctor,” Julian says, corralling him towards his bed, “I insist.”

The grip on his hand tightens into iron. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay. Okay.” Garak sits on the edge of the mattress. Julian can see his shoulders trembling. Come unraveled, some part of him begs his sometime friend. He wants to scream, to shout, to rip apart the galaxy for allowing something as impermissible as this wasteful war. 

Instead, Garak lays his head on the pillow and shivers. He was Cardassian first and foremost, and this loss—of people, of home, of pride—was traumatic as losing a limb.

Julian lies beside him, watching his back as his chest rises and falls. His abdomen is shrunken under his broad ribcage, and the vertebrae in his spine stand out in sharp relief. It has been weeks, maybe months since they’ve been able to spend time together like this. He never realized how tired and hungry Garak was.

“Do you need more blankets?”

“No.” The acid in his tone tells him he was punishing himself once again. Julian grabs a mound of blankets and heaps them between himself and Garak, an island of isolation. They wait in silence, lacking the ability or desire to fall asleep.

“Dear doctor,” comes a small voice from behind the covers. “How would you feel, do you think, were you in my position?”

900 million dead. People of Earth, his homeworld, slaughtered as they lay sleeping, by an alien force that knew neither love, nor joy, nor family. “I would be—” Devastated. Horrified. Heartsick. “I would feel, I think,” he picks the words carefully, “completely alone in the universe.”

Garak props himself up on one arm so they can see one another. “I think,” he says hoarsely, “that you might be right.”


End file.
